Over
by starsareFALLING
Summary: A different take on The Eclipse Part I. Elle/Claire, eventually. CHAPTER THREE UP
1. Chapter 1

Wow, oneshots are really kind of addicting at the moment. I guess since they're the only thing I have time for.

Elle/Claire during the rough'n'tumble human-fight scene from The Eclipse Part I. The way it should have been. Enjoi. =]

* * *

The shot had been clear. It was such an easy action, pulling the trigger. So simple—but she couldn't do it. Questions came, then doubts, then fears, and then the shot wasn't clear anymore; it was blocked by a dirty taupe sweater and pleading eyes.

"Elle, don't."

Shaky enough before, so unsure, the voice tore at her resolve. She had to help Gabriel; she had to shoot Mr. Bennet… She could see limbs scrambling and blood spilling and hear the blows and cries of their mortal battle, but it all seemed so far away, so distant. The only thing that was clear was the shaking gun barrel in her hands and the iridescent eyes of the teenage girl it was pointed at. Gabriel cried out in pain. She had to help him; she had to shoot Mr. Bennet—but Claire…

"You don't have to do this."

Elle couldn't move. She was still, immobile, trembling. Their powers were gone. She was powerless. What was she without her powers? Nothing. What happened now? Who was she? Where would she go? What would she do? What did it all mean? There were so many questions, so many problems, so many reasons, and she couldn't make sense of any of them. She wished more than anything she could turn the gun to her own head; that was a decision she was sure she could make on her own.

"Elle!"

Gabriel. He needed her help. He needed _her_, but Claire was in her way…

"Don't listen to him, Elle. You don't have to be like him."

That wasn't true. She made him. She was like him. She was evil. And then the pain was back, like lightning, so suddenly, so jarringly that she began to weep, trembling with sobs she couldn't contain. The barrel shook violently.

"Elle!"

But Gabriel needed her. He cared for her. She had to help him. The barrel leveled out.

"You're different, Elle. I know you are. Before Pinehearst, you wanted to change. You still can!"

She didn't know what to believe…

"Elle—"

"ELLE!"

"Elle, listen to me! There's still time for change!"

"Shoot her! Elle, do it! Shoot her!"

"Don't do it, Elle. "

"SHOOT HER!"

"You can still change."

She pressed her eyes shut.

There were so many voices, yelling at her, screaming at her, hurting her. Everything was caving in. What should she do? She wanted to squeeze the trigger, to hurt everything, to make it all bleed, but she wanted to drop the gun and run away from it all, bury herself far away from all the noises and voices. Blood rushed in her ears, her heart beat heavily in her chest, her breath grew frantic, her hands tightened, white knuckled, her finger pulling back—and the gun tumbled to the ground.

And then there were strong arms around her, but they were smaller than her own and her face was pressed into that ugly taupe sweater as she cried. The noise continued, far away, hushed by the gentle whisper in her ear; she felt safe.

"It's okay, Elle. It's over. It's over."

And it must have been, because Mr. Bennet was cursing rushing out of the house after Gabriel as he sprinted away, and she was still on the floor, crying, in Claire's arms, and she felt like she belonged there. The pain was gone. It was over.

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Anybody see this going somewhere? Click the button, por favor.


	2. Chapter 2

I guess you guys really liked this one, so… ta-da. It's magic; I actually found time to continue something.

[If this chapter seems a lot different, perspective-wise and the like, it most certainly is, and I'm aware, and it was on purpose. Let's say Elle's more awake now, and that, if the story continues, so will this trend of 'enlightening'. Ha.]

* * *

When the time came to move, Elle didn't remember much of what happened. Like a bad movie, bits and pieces filtered through the darkness. Gabriel—no, Sylar—and Noah—or, Mr. Bennet—they were fighting; they were yelling and bleeding. And Claire… Claire was…—everything was too loud. It hurt inside, like she'd swallowed nails, or knives—and there was a gun, wasn't there? She could have sworn there was… She remembered it in her hands. Though, the memory of the event itself was broken, fragmented, like that picture of her mother she dropped on accident when she was ten, shattered and distorted…

But she thought maybe she'd just blacked out again, like she used to when she was little. It happened a lot, didn't it? Daddy always said that's why she could never remember getting all those scars… Maybe it had just happened again…

Yet, now she was conscious and aware, and she remembered that Daddy used to lie to her. She remembered that Daddy was dead. Now she was awake, and confused, and there were arms around her, and they were trying to make her stand up. She tried to follow them, clumsy and feeling numb, and held whatever limb was nearest in a shaky grip, raising her eyes to—

"Can you stand alright?"

Claire. It was Claire who had her arms around her. It was Claire helping her to her feet. For a moment, Elle stood limply, her hands at Claire's elbows, so close she could feel the warmth from the cheerleader's body echoing through the ugly taupe sweater against her chest. Her face grew hot, reddening under the heated rush of the younger blonde's breath.

"Elle?" Claire tried again. Her eyes were dark with a concern Elle didn't understand. "Are you alright?"

Was she alright? She was on fire. She was overloading and short-circuiting, lost in Claire's eyes, caught in shining streaks of memory, in a downward spiral; a nervous flier taking down an airplane. Elle pushed back, but stumbled. Claire was there to catch her. She was there to take hold of her hand, and the plane evened out—and just like that, it was over. Over…

Answering herself, the cheerleader sighed. "Apparently not," she mumbled.

Elle felt the hands on her shoulder and her hip tighten, and she stiffened, expecting the worst. Whenever Daddy would tighten his grip, it meant that he was angry—but this was Claire… Claire was fierce, but she was gentle. Elle had never known gentle. She'd heard of gentle, in books and magazines, she'd _seen_ gentle, on the television, through window panes, but she'd never been a part of it. As she regained her footing, guided by Claire's steady hands, she decided that she liked gentle. She liked that it felt warm…

"He's gone."

The voice that broke their tense silence was laced with defeat and frustration, and Elle turned towards it to find Mr. Bennet, thoroughly disheveled and beaten, leaning against the doorframe, gun held loosely in his hand. His breath was deep with exertion, exhaled in short pants, and his eyes were bright with the diminishing fire of a fight. He spared her a fleeting glance, but focused intently on Claire.

"He got away," the tired father sighed, and leaned more heavily against the doorframe, tiring.

"There's nothing he can do now," Claire responded after a similar sigh, just as serious. "He's powerless."

The conversation went on around her, but it was lost on Elle.

Powerless?

She felt her legs falter under her slight weight. She remembered now; they _were_ powerless. They'd come to capture Claire. She'd tried to shock her, and it hadn't worked… Then—she nearly lost her footing. She'd tried to shock Claire. Suddenly, unlike anything she'd ever felt before, shame burned beneath her skin, something like acid, or liquid fire; like alcohol on an open wound. In Claire's protective embrace, she hung her head.

She didn't understand. Her memory was still in shards. Some things were vivid, and some things were hazy; some parts were just black. Inconsistencies and holes riddled her mind. But she remembered some pieces. Her father's death; being attacked by Sylar. Letting out the prisoners on Level Five. The excruciating pain of it all. Hunting down Noah Bennet to make him fix her, only to find Claire, a different kind of help that she never imagined she'd find…

Claire had willingly suffered with her. She'd taken all of her pain; she'd flown halfway across the country to try to help her find a way to fix her—and Elle had come back days later, 'fixed', and ready to shoot her down. Why? Why was she so empty? Because had felt guilty. Because Sylar woke the deadened sociopath inside and fascinated her. Because she was still shattered, still unstable and weak… and she didn't understand.

She didn't understand why Claire was still so gentle.

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Anybody still like it? Or did I ruin it?

Let me know. Click the button, por favor.


	3. Chapter 3

So, this chapter pretty much sucks. It didn't turn out the way I wanted it to, but I figured I'd made you guys wait long enough, so I posted it anyway.

I think this one sucks mainly just because there wasn't any personal Elle/Claire interaction like the first two chapters. Hopefully chapter four will be better.

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She sat in the car while they argued because she didn't deserve to hear Claire defend her.

But even through the metal and glass, through the rubber and isolation, the cheerleader's voice reached her ears. She was trying to convince her father that Elle had changed, irrational, agitated that he wasn't listening to her. Elle could see them through the window, yelling nonsense words, fighting more with their bodies than anything else. Claire pushed her argument with overbearing actions, frustration strung tight in her limbs, always forward and heated; but Mr. Bennet remained stock-still and stoic. Elle could care less. Her fate rested entirely in _his_ hands, but she could only stare at Claire, enthralled.

Because when Claire argued, she didn't just yell; she _fought_. Elle imagined she was always like that when she got angry. She remembered vaguely, from a long time ago, what the receiving end of that battle felt like: it stung. Claire was a wildfire when she was angry; but it only stung. Being on the other end, protected by her—it burned. Shame, she realized, _burned_.

Elle was beginning to understand that help was the last thing she could ask for. She'd betrayed Bennet and his family more times than she could count, and probably more times than she could remember. She'd betrayed them worse than anyone; she betrayed them without realizing it. That was all she was ever good at, it seemed. She betrayed everyone…

And the guilt—it wouldn't go away. The more time passed, the more she felt like she was dying. Her body burned from the inside out, like she'd swallowed all those poison words Claire was using to defend her. Sickness roiled in her stomach, climbing her throat. She _wanted_ to die. It was the only escape, and there was no point in living anymore anyway. Her father was dead; she was abandoned by the company that dictated her life; the only thing she had left was this searing sense of guilt.

She wanted it to end. She wanted to run until the earth ran out, until she'd found the sea and drowned in it. Or maybe she could just find the Haitian and have him take all of her memories for good. Erase everything that made her who she was. No longer Elle Bishop. There was nothing there to be proud of. Her name was a disgrace. Her father never loved her. She didn't even have her powers anymore. She was worthless. She wished she could tell her that she was worthless… Anything to make her stop, because she couldn't take it. She couldn't take Claire's protection, her caring embrace and gentle ways…

It seemed then that her prayers had been answered, that her pain was at an end, because, the next thing she knew, she was being pulled out of the car by her arm, drawn roughly to her feet, face to face with the only normal human man she'd ever feared. Her heart beat fast in her chest as he pulled back the hammer of his gun. The subtle _click_ traveled down the length of it, and, with the barrel pressed to her forehead, fear hit her hard. He might have just swung a wrecking ball into her face, because she felt her entire body contract with the force of it. Everything inside her shrunk, collapsing into itself—and she felt better.

She felt better, because Bennet would kill her. Bennet wouldn't defend her or save her. He'd give her what she deserved.

The blood rushed heavily in her ears, harder than it ever had before, and she was surprised she'd even heard anything when Claire's voice sounded loudly, filled with an emotion she couldn't distinguish with a gun to her head.

"Dad!" she yelled, and she was only seconds behind him, gripping his coat with surprisingly strong hands and trying to pull him away. But he shook her off, and the gun remained where it was, digging into Elle's forehead with increasing force.

Elle could have smiled. He was going to kill her; she felt it in her gut. But she realized that everyone must have been lying to her again, because her life didn't flash before her eyes like they'd said. Maybe it was just because she'd never had much of a life to begin with, but she could only see his finger, and how dangerously close it was to pulling the trigger.

"Now, you listen to me," Bennet began, speaking very quietly, dangerously, in the only voice Elle had ever visibly shrunk away from, other than her father's. "For some reason, my daughter believes that you can change." His face was twisted into the most vicious visage she'd ever seen from him. "I don't know how you managed to convince her, and I don't care—_you have once chance_. I knew who you were once, before your father ruined you; you were _normal, _and you'd better believe that that's the only reason I'm letting you live." He put so much force behind the barrel of the gun at that point that the back of her head connected harshly with the cold metal exterior of the car. "If you ruin this, you'd better pray you can run faster than I can, and that you pick up some new tricks along the way, because I will find you, and I _will_ kill you."

And when the gun was suddenly gone, and her forehead burned, and her knees buckled, and, for the second time, Claire was there to catch her as she slid down the side of the car, she decided that she really didn't know what she wanted after all.

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Anyone want me to do chapter four? I'm pretty sure it'll be better.

That button does wonders, you know. You should click it. Even if you're telling me how much I suck.


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